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weakness, and disapproved of such sickly creatures being introduced to the castle where contagion could spread. For they were very white, dark eyes sunken in their faces, lips pale, and some had to support the others. Fever, I thought.’
    Edward Kelley
14 November 1585
Niepolomice
    The castle at Niepolomice was dark, and the great oak doorway seemed to swallow us whole. King Istvan Báthory’s banners hung over each doorway: a dragon curled around a shield, with three teeth inscribed upon it. The outer courtyard was a combination of an army marshalling yard and a country market. Women sold everything, from chickens swinging unhappily from their feet, to sausages the size of a man’s arm, carried aloft in great bunches. Soldiers stood in clusters, hands on weapons, hostility on every face. I soon realised it was not aimed at two weary travellers from England, but at each other. Bearskinned Magyars strutted in groups, the blue-uniformed Polish soldiers watching their every move, and polishing their weapons was a company of the emperor’s black-coated soldiers.
    The captain of our escort beckoned to us, as the last of our luggage was tossed onto the ground from the mules.
    ‘I suspect we shall carry our own bags,’ murmured Dee, still in a good humour.
    That meant I carried most of them, my master leaning over for the book bag and the leather packet containing our charts and maps. I followed Dee and the captain through the outer courtyard to an inner one, and along a corridor, which lifted my nose to the smell of roasting meat. We skirted a gallery full of portraits, then a feasting hall with raised dais and tables, and went into a warren of smaller rooms and antechambers filled with courtiers and servants.
    I dragged the packs up a curving stair, and into a hall lined with doors. One was opened, and we were ushered into a larger and lighter chamber than I had expected. A new fire spluttered in the hearth, glowing yellow. There was no chimney, but a smoke stain up the wall led to several openings at the top, the arrangement of which must have been unruly in windy weather.
    A manservant, as black-eyed and brown-skinned as a Turk, bowed low to Dee and then clamped the shutters against the night air. I saw a tallow candle upon the table, lit against the darkness, and fine lamps ready for a flame. A bed, as high as my waist, was stretched against the wall, leather straps across a frame, and as I watched, two women bustled in carrying a mattress. They lifted it onto the bed, and the manservant opened a coffer, handing them a thick, felted blanket.
    I slipped off my cloak, stretching it in front of the fire. One of the serving women started unpacking our clothes. I noticed she seemed afraid of Dee, who was already sharpening his pen. My sleeves were damp and stained, and she beckoned for me to give up my shirt. I changed it for a clean one, sewn with exquisite tiny stitches by Mistress Jane Dee herself. I had often seen her bent over her needlework, drawing on her experience as an embroiderer in her youth. Strange to think she was but thirty, the same age as myself. I fancied I could smell her perfume, and felt a momentary pang. I chastised myself for the sin of covetousness, for breaking the tenth commandment.
    The door creaked open, and a maidservant carried in a rush bag of logs. I stroked my beard, trimmed in the style of Drake, and she dimpled. Her smile faded at Dee’s voice, and she turned, crossing herself as she fled the room.
    ‘Why don’t you ask for some wine?’ Dee suggested, already looping his letters, chronicling the thoughts and observations he had memorised during the day’s travel. What he meant was, ‘go away so I can write’, but I was thirsty myself. I opened the door and walked into the armoured chest of a guard.
    I staggered back, and mimed holding a goblet up to my lips and drinking.
    ‘ Crapula , wine, understand?’ The bearded man looked blank. I tried again. ‘ Vinum? ’ The guard extended a